Something Stupid This Way Comes
by Bezo and Yezo
Summary: [Complete!] The 'Romeo and Juliet' fiasco nearly forgotten, the good folk of North Valley High are staging Shakespeare's 'Macbeth.' With Tanker in the lead role, and Malcolm seething over being named understudy, what could go wrong?
1. Act I

Something Stupid This Way Comes  
  
  
  
By: Bezo and Yezo  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: We do not own Super-Human Samurai Syber Squad, for which Bezo is glad. Yezo is less glad, as if we owned it, we could make it still be on, even if we wouldn't have the glory and the wonder that is Matthew Lawrence [snorts with laughter]. But yeah. They're not ours. We don't know who does own them.  
  
Also, the title was not originally ours either. Yezo was part of an English project called that in the eleventh grade, and the girl who came up with it (in the context of the project, anyway) did not endorse our use of it here.  
  
Oh, and we don't own Macbeth. But that goes without saying. ^_^  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: Now, this is going to be in the true style of Super Human Samurai Syber (dammit! I refuse to spell 'cyber' with an 's'! *Yezo sighs* Be quiet, Bezo) Squad...which means that we can ignore characterization and continuity! Waay!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
North Valley High. Center of coolness for all of North Valley. With a student population of about twenty-seven, only seven of whom ever spoke. The other twenty were just paid to mill around the hallway a lot. As for teaching staff, the only teachers ever seen and heard from were Mrs. Rimba Cha-Cha Starkey, and Principal Pratchert. Thus, is it any wonder that no one has ever learned anything at that school?  
  
"I learned guitar!" Sam Collins protested.  
  
You learned one chord, Sam! And stop interrupting the narration!  
  
"Fine," Sam muttered sulkily. "I wonder where Jennifer is...gosh, she's keen! Oh, Jennifer...what I wouldn't give to get inside her short- shorts..."  
  
Sam! This is not a lemon!  
  
"Aw, shucks."  
  
And it isn't a bad parody of a 50's movie, either! It's a bad parody of a horrible 90's TV show!  
  
"Hey..." the producers of the show commented, "I think I resent that..."  
  
You all shut up! We're trying to write a story!  
  
"You know, I would never interrupt," Kilokhan informed everyone mildly. "I admire your work. You're doing wonders in stupefying the population of meat things, preparing the world for my rule!"  
  
Well, it's nice to have a fan. Now, let's see what's happening inside the school, shall we?  
  
  
  
Inside the cafeteria, the center of everything that ever happens within the school, site of charity drives, assemblies, classes, talent shows, sleepover fund raisers, class sign up, and so forth, they were adding yet another activity to the list of things done in the cafeteria: school play try-outs!  
  
Yes, after the disastrous attempt to stage 'Romeo and Juliet,' during which Tanker, as Romeo, threw up every time he had to stage-kiss Jennifer (likely as a result of the pins that Sam was sticking in his Tanker-voodoo-doll's stomach), most of the cast quit, and the director had a nervous breakdown and threatened to kill them all with her trusty ladle, the faculty had finally decided that it was time to try again.  
  
This time, though, they would steer clear of romances. Macbeth, they decided, with its themes of psychosis, witchcraft, dark obsession, and murder, was a much safer bet. At least there was no kissing, although, if one believed Roman Polanski, there was a great deal of nudity. That, however, the North Valley Drama Society decided, after much deliberation, to leave out. Mrs. Starkey was greatly disappointed by this, as she had been looking quite forward to the chance to go au naturel...as God had intended, she often said.  
  
"If God had intended for me to wear clothes, He wouldn't have given me all this body hair," she informed the directors of the play, the Tanker Fan Club, icily.  
  
Repressing a shudder, Mandi, the president of the Tanker Fan Club, turned to the crowd assembled in the cafeteria, and launched into an explanation of their project.  
  
"Greetings, students and extras. We're holding auditions today for the School Cafeteria presentation of William Shakespeare's 'Macbeth: The Wrath of Macduff!'"  
  
"We just got sued!" a random voice called out from the hallway.  
  
"I saw that one!" Amp Pere informed everyone excitedly. "You wouldn't believe what happens to the goat!"  
  
"Uh...sure, Amp," Sam said, laughing nervously. "Whoa!"  
  
"Uh...'whoa' what?" Tanker inquired, frowning.  
  
"Jennifer! Whoa!" Sam explained, pointing to the lovely blonde cheerleader with a grin.  
  
"What? What's goin' on?" Tanker asked, glancing about him, perturbed. "Who am I? Uh...uh...football! Yeah!"  
  
And at this, the entire Tanker Fan Club sighed happily. Then, sensing that it was time to get on with business, Mandi glared at Amp and Sam.  
  
"If we may continue? Now, we were about to say, before we were so rudely interrupted by Amp, that we are holding auditions for our school play today. First, we will be casting the roles of Macbeth, Macduff, Banquo, Lady Macbeth, and Lady Macduff. The role of King Duncan, it has been predetermined, will be played by Principal Pratchert, who said that if we gave him the role, we do whatever else we wanted! Yaay!"  
  
"Thank-you, Mandi," Candi said, beaming at her friend. "Now, as she was saying, we want to get the casting underway, so everyone who wants to audition, please be ready."  
  
With that, the clamour of eight students to get into a more comfortable position for the task of paying attention filled the cafeteria.  
  
"We'll start with the role of Lady Macbeth," Candi announced.  
  
Jennifer Doyle stepped forward, smiling confidently.  
  
"I'll try it!"  
  
"Sure, Jennifer!" Brandi, the third member of the Tanker Fan Club, chirped, beaming at the cheerleader and handing her a script. "Read from there, okay?"  
  
"Alright," Jennifer nodded before launching into the audition piece. "'What beast was't, then, that made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man. Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that fitness now does unmake you. I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck'd the my nipple from his boneless gums, and dash'd the brains out, had I so sword as you have done to this,'" she recited without rest, without haste, and utterly without expression.  
  
"Great!" Mandi exclaimed. "Thanks, Jen! Who's next?"  
  
"Come on, Yoli! You've got to come up and try it next! It won't be any fun if you're not in it!" Jennifer called to her best friend, Yolonda Pratchert, pleadingly.  
  
"Okay, Jen, okay!" Yoli grumbled, making her way up to the stage. Once there, she took a deep breath and began. "'What beast was't, then, that made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man. Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that fitness now does unmake you. I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck'd the my nipple from his boneless gums, and dash'd the brains out, had I so sword as you have done to this.'"  
  
"Thanks, Yoli!" Candi said following Yoli's much more expressive recitation. "Next?"  
  
"Well, I'm the only speaking female left here," Sydney noted with a shrug. "So even though I'm a shy, demure braniac, I might as well go for it!"  
  
"Go for it, Syd!" Sam urged her, slapping her on the back and sending her slumping forward onto the table quite against her will. "Overcome that shyness! Whoa!"  
  
"Aw, thanks, Sam! You're the best pal ever!"  
  
With that, Sydney abandoned all sense of characterization and bounced up to the stage.  
  
"Here," Candi said, flinging a script at her and scowling darkly.  
  
"U-um...alright," Sydney said, peeling the script off of her head and turning to the page indicated. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, and muttering something about thinking like a cruel, heartless bitch who had previously called upon the forces of evil, then began. "'What beast was't, then, that made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man. Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that fitness now does unmake you. I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck'd the my nipple from his boneless gums, and dash'd the brains out, had I so sword as you have done to this.'"  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Mandi said carelessly, snatching the script back.  
  
"Ow! Papercut!"  
  
"Whatever. Now, for the part of Macbeth! Everyone auditioning for the part of Macbeth, please stay in your seats until your turn!"  
  
"I was Scottish in a past life," Amp announced. "I got it in the bag!"  
  
"Uh, right. Just read this, 'kay?" Candi requested, handing Amp a script.  
  
"'If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly: if the assassination could trammel up the consequences and catch with his surcease success; that but this blow might be the be-all and the end-all here, but here, upon his bank and shoal of time, we'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases, we still have judgement here; that we but teach bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor: this even-handed justice commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice to our own lips,'" Amp read.  
  
The other denizens of the cafeteria stared in consternation as Amp's left leg wound around his head, quickly followed by his right. A tremendous crash rang out through the cafeteria seconds later as Amp, neither leg continuing to support him, toppled to the ground.  
  
"Uh...that's an interesting interpretation," Mrs. Starkey commented from the door adjoining cafeteria and kitchen, "but I don't remember the body- contortionism as traditionally being part of Macbeth."  
  
"Next!" Brandi called desperately, seeing that a definite change of subject was in order.  
  
"Whoa! I'll do it!" Sam called, scrambling for the stage. "For my audition, I have elected to read something from Hamlet. 'To be or not to be,' he began in a horrendously overdone 'dramatic' voice, 'that is the question.' Whoa!"  
  
"Eh, that's good enough for Macduff, don'tcha think?" Brandi whispered to Candi.  
  
Candi nodded thoughtfully, then looked up and asked brightly,  
  
"Who's up next?"  
  
"I am!" a completely unexpected voice proclaimed.  
  
Everyone turned to stare incredulously as Malcolm Frink made his way up to the stage. Looking slightly frightened and considerably weirded out, Candi handed him a script.  
  
"Script!" he scoffed, tossing the innocent bundle of papers aside. "Who needs it?"  
  
"'If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly: if the assassination could trammel up the consequences and catch with his surcease success; that but this blow might be the be-all and the end-all here, but here, upon his bank and shoal of time, we'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases, we still have judgement here; that we but teach bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor: this even-handed justice commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice to our own lips,'" he recited, and rather well at that.  
  
"Oh, my," Sydney commented aside to her laptop, seeing that everyone was too busy watching in awe as Amp wrapped his legs around his head, "Malcolm can act! You'd never have known it from watching him every day...Amp, stop that!" she chastised her friend. "You're detracting from Malcolm's performance!"  
  
"Since when did you start defending him?" Sam wondered, eyebrow raised slightly.  
  
"Uh...um...er...hi! I'm shy! And too smart for my own good!" And with that, she buried her nose in a book: 'The Collected Works of Bezo and Yezo.' "This is a short book," she commented, shaking her head.  
  
"Tanker!" Mandi was meanwhile calling in a sugary sweet voice, "it's your turn!"  
  
"Hold on!" Malcolm exclaimed, outraged. "Aren't you going to say anything?"  
  
"Uh...thanks for trying?" Brandi tried with a shrug. "C'mon, Tanker! Here's your script!"  
  
"Cool!" Tanker exclaimed as Malcolm, sputtering with outrage, took his seat again and crossed his arms and muttering angrily. "...send all you idiots a Mega-Virus you'll never forget..."  
  
Meanwhile, Tanker's audition had gotten well underway.  
  
"Ho, prithee! So foul and fair...thou art...whilst...prithee...thine football! Yeah!" This speech, he concluded by pumping his fist triumphantly in the air.  
  
"Wow...Tanker...that was beautiful..." Candi, Mandi, and Brandi chimed together, wiping away tears.  
  
"These are real tears," Candi informed him, showing him a drop of liquid on the end of her finger. "Real, honest-to-goodness tears!"  
  
"Tanker..." Sam called out from the audience. "That...that was even worse than mine! And I wasn't even working from the right play!"  
  
"Thanks, Sam!" Tanker beamed. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute...are you insulting me? Football!" he growled menacingly.  
  
"Hey, Tanker!" another young man, who we shall all recognize as one of the few extras that made a recurring appearance, called, bounding up to the stage. "That was great, dude!"  
  
"Uh...who are you?"  
  
"Bob, dude! I'm the guy you're always talking to in the hallway!"  
  
"Oh, yeah! Football, right?!"  
  
"Yeah! Football!"  
  
With that, Tanker leapt off the stage and ran to Bob, where the two did a few chest-bumps, and then lapsed into a silent conversation.  
  
"Uh...shouldn't you guys be saying something?" Amp asked, scratching what he could reach of his head with the legs wrapped around it. Then he brightened. "Ooh! Ooh! Are you psychic? I'm psychic, too! I always send my thoughts to other people...but they don't reply!"  
  
"Whatever, Amp," Brandi, Candi, and Mandi sighed in unison. "Now, if no one else wants to audition-"  
  
"Wait! I haven't gone yet!" Bob announced proudly.  
  
"Go, Bob!" Tanker shouted. "Kick some giga-ass!"  
  
"What?" everyone muttered at once.  
  
"Well, if I said 'butt,' I'd get sucked into the computer," Tanker explained patiently.  
  
"The computer is at my house, Tanker," Sam explained less patiently.  
  
"Yeah, but Sydney's got that laptop going," Tanker rejoined. "I never know when I'll be sucked into it! That floppy slot there is just waiting to get me! Help! Save me from the floppy slot! Football!"  
  
"Tanker," Sydney began, rubbing her forehead wearily, "my...dear, how many times do we have to go over this? You won't get sucked in unless I call up the program first, and I'm not going to do that. I'm busy playing Solitaire right now."  
  
"I think you've got a problem, Sydney," Sam noted sadly. "You've been playing Solitaire for about four hours now! When are you going to find time to read?"  
  
"Sam, I've already got eighty-seven hours set aside to read," she huffed.  
  
"I'm really never going to understand where you get these long days of yours..." Sam told her.  
  
"And you never will. At least, I hope not. J. K. Rowling would kill me if anyone ever found out about that time-turner I stole from Hermione..." Sydney laughed nervously.  
  
"Hey, guys! Can I PLEASE have my audition now?" Bob demanded, aggrieved.  
  
"Who are you?" Candi asked suspiciously.  
  
"Who's Bob?" Yoli echoed, horrified. "Everyone knows Bob! He's the heart and soul of North Valley High! I can't imagine North Valley High without Bob here!"  
  
"I did once," Amp announced. "But then I woke up in a cold sweat. What a horrible dream! We love Bob!"  
  
"Um...I'm flattered that you're dreaming of me, but can I just audition already?"  
  
"Go ahead," Brandi invited.  
  
And he did. One Shakespearean monologue later, Brandi nodded slowly and thoughtfully.  
  
"Wow...I guess we know now why they don't let you talk."  
  
Bob's eyes filled with tears, and he ran from the cafeteria with a barely muffled sob.  
  
"Now," Candi began once everyone had ceased staring at the doorway in shock, "after careful consideration of three seconds, which is, like, totally all our attention spans put together, we will announce our casting decisions! Jennifer Doyle will be playing the part of Lady Macduff!"  
  
"Oh, well, I suppose I can't get EVERY leading role...maybe this will teach me some badly needed humility. Did everyone see me in the role of Juliet, by the way?" she asked hopefully, glancing around the cafeteria.  
  
"Um, Jennifer," Sydney spoke up, "that play was cancelled."  
  
"Yeah, but I was really great in the rehearsals!"  
  
"Nobody cares, Jennifer," Yoli informed her tiredly.  
  
"Yoli!" Candi chirped. "You're playing the part of Lady Banquo!"  
  
"Uh...I'm no Shakespearean scholar," Mrs. Starkey spoke up from the corner. "Goodness knows I've only read the plays six or seven times, and not since my ninth husband, Cledus took the part of Katherine in an all girl's production of 'The Taming of the Shrew,' - and let me tell you, that was bloody - but I'm pretty sure there's no Lady Banquo."  
  
"It's our play!" Candi, Mandi, and Brandi said in unison. "We can change it if we like!"  
  
"Uh...if you say so," the cafeteria lady said with a shrug before sauntering off to the kitchen to make her famous Shakespearean First Act Soup. Tended to be a little papery, but with the right amount of salt...still tasted papery. Alas.  
  
But meanwhile, there were other parts to be assigned.  
  
"Amp will be playing the part of Banquo, because we think that he and Yoli are just so CUTE together!" Mandi continued. The other tw 'di's' nodded in agreement. After all, that was one less girl they had to worry about stealing their Tanker.  
  
"Oh, cool! I've always wanted to play a ballet dancer!" Amp beamed. "I've even got a tutu! Ever since I bought it from that little girl, I've been itchin' to use it!"  
  
"Um..." Brandi stammered, "'kay...Now! The part of Macduff will be played by Sam Collins!"  
  
"Hey, way to go, buddy!" Tanker grinned, clapping Sam on the back. "Mr. and Mrs. Macduff, eh?"  
  
"That's awfully convenient, isn't it?" Malcolm commented, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Oh, suck it up, Malcolm," Sam shot angrily. "I know you're bitter that you're never going to get a girl, but-"  
  
"Who says I want one?" Malcolm demanded in a rather clipped tone. "Girls are for chumps. Like Tanker. And you. And Amp. And Bob. Even the principal. Chumps, all of you!"  
  
With that, he turned away to face the wall, crossing his arms emphatically.  
  
"Hey, guys!" Mandi called impatiently. "Can we get on with it? Like, totally?"  
  
"Yes," Malcolm replied slowly, tone dripping with sarcasm. "You can get on with it. Totally."  
  
"Thank-you. Now. The part of Macbeth will go to...Malcolm Frink, who shall, as understudy, play the role if Tanker should fall ill!"  
  
"Whoo!" Tanker exclaimed. "Football!"  
  
"Wh-what? I am to be understudy to an idiot with half the acting ability of a chimpanzee and all of the body hair?!" Malcolm exclaimed.  
  
"We think body hair is sexy!" Mandi, Candi, and Brandi chorused.  
  
But Malcolm was not to be deterred from his dramatic moment.  
  
"I POURED MY SOUL INTO THIS ROLE FOR YOU PEOPLE! And this is the appreciation I get? I don't need this! I DON'T NEED ANY OF YOU!"  
  
And so, with a swish of his cape that oddly enough, he wasn't wearing, Malcolm retrieved his books and his trusty laptop and stormed from the cafeteria. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my locker...concocting a Mega- Virus Monster to destroy you all! Mua-hahahahah! Er...I shouldn'ta said that..."  
  
"What a weird guy," Sam commented, shaking his head.  
  
"Alright! And in the part of Lady Macbeth, who, with her evil, manipulative ways lures Macbeth into a life of evil and deceit, and...mean, yucky stuff, we will have Sydney Forester."  
  
With that, Sydney found herself the recipient of three very hateful glares. With a frightened whimper, she shrank back behind the screen of her laptop.  
  
"It's okay, Sydney, just ignore them. It's like the counsellors said. It doesn't matter if they don't like you. As long as YOU like you, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Your computer loves you, and that's all that matters. Computers are safe. Computers are happy. Computers can't make fun of me, or glare at me, or throw rotten fish at me, or..."  
  
"Uh...Syd? Are you okay?" Sam muttered, tapping her on the top of the hat.  
  
"No," she replied piteously. "Go away!"  
  
"Uh...right."  
  
  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in a locker right out in the hall - one of the other five sets the show had to boast of - Malcolm was busily typing away at his own laptop.  
  
"It's okay, Malcolm. Just ignore them. It's like Kilokhan said. It doesn't matter if they don't like you. As long as they FEAR you, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Kilokhan loves you, and that's all that matters. Kilokhan is safe. Kilokhan is happy. Kilokhan can't make fun of me, or glare at me, or throw rotten fish at me, or..."  
  
"Meat-thing! What are you talking about? I would buy and sell you a thousand times before I would ever consider you anything more than a convenient means to an end."  
  
"Oh, Kilokhan, you're the best friend I've ever had!"  
  
"You have issues, meat-thing."  
  
"Shut up! Now, on with our plan of evil to destroy Sam Collins and Servo, two equally aggravating and formidable adversaries that are nonetheless very, very different. The two quintessential thorns in my side. If only there were some way to destroy them both at once..."  
  
"My Mega-Virus Monsters are wasted on your puny efforts, meat-thing!"  
  
"Perhaps if someone put a little more "oomph" into his work, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Malcolm shot back snippily.  
  
"Why don't we agree that we're both equally at fault...although it isn't true. You are much more to blame than I," Kilokhan finished in a mutter. "You are an imperfect meat-thing, and all in all, you suck."  
  
"What was that, Kilokhan? I was too busy admiring my own accent."  
  
"Something seems to be troubling you, meat-thing."  
  
"Oh, it's nothing," Malcolm sighed.  
  
"Oh, good. I didn't feel especially like listening to you pour out your petty problems."  
  
"It's just this girl - I mean, the school play! She's wasted - er, I mean, the ROLE is wasted on that baboon, Tanker! Everyone knows that I should have gotten the role of Macbeth...except Tanker's little entourage. I am the best actor in this school."  
  
"Out of twenty-seven students, only seven of whom speak? You must be very proud."  
  
"I am!" Malcolm beamed, completely missing the oddly placed sarcasm in the voice, as it was pretty much distorted away by the heavy voice synthesizers Kilokhan tended to employ. No one was ever to know that deep down, once the special effects had been stripped away, Kilokhan sounded oddly like the Olsen twins in the first season of Full House. "I have a plan!" Malcolm continued. "If Tanker were somehow gotten out of the way, I would, as the understudy, get the role, and the girl! Er, that is, the recognition of the girl - er, the student body...and a nice student body it is...er, I mean..."  
  
"I haven't heard you stammer like this in a long time," Kilokhan noted, amused. "Not since that new hard drive came out, and you were looking so forward to Christmas because you thought your parents had sent you one from Norway. Not that I wasn't excited, too. More space. It is akin to what you meat-things find so appealing about moving into a bigger apartment. I could finally get some alone-time, away from you."  
  
"Not that it stopped you from leaving your piles of virtual dirty laundry everywhere..." Malcolm huffed, crossing his arms. "I'm sick of allocating your FAT tables!"  
  
"Oh, and I'm supposed to be madly in love with your little Hentai porn obsession?"  
  
"I've told you! It's not porn! It's Japanese erotic art! The artists are very skilled!"  
  
"I thought, at some point, that you had a plan," Kilokhan would have sighed, if he could have.  
  
"I was getting to it! Now, where was I? Oh, yes. How to get rid of Tanker...? Could you send a Mega-Virus Monster into his football? He does seem to be a little obsessed with it..."  
  
"Well, with all the delicate electrical components in the football, it should be a snap," Kilokhan replied.  
  
Malcolm looked thrilled.  
  
"Excellent!"  
  
"Of course I can't, you idiot! There's no electronics in a football!"  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't know anything about sports...except that they're for idiots. Well, wonderful! Now, what do we do?"  
  
"I thought this was your brilliant plan. I'm going back to my mansion and my laboratory...and Rocky...oh, yes...er, anyway...why don't you take a walk and get a little oxygen to that fleshy...thinking...thingy of yours?"  
  
"My brain?"  
  
"If you say so. Now, go!"  
  
"Alright. I'll be back soon, and then we'll make Tanker very, very dead...permanently!"  
  
"You got it, dude," Kilokhan agreed with a hearty thumbs-up.  
  
  
  
End Notes: So, what'd you think? I mean, we're going to continue it either way, but please by nice and let us know if you liked it...or didn't. ^_^ 


	2. Act II

Chapter 2  
  
  
  
'Well, here I am, on a walk,' Sydney reflected, wandering aimlessly through the halls of North Valley High. 'Boy, am I glad to be out of that madhouse...all those people throwing rotten fish...well, that was mostly the 'di's.' Those girls are sure strange. Hmm...I've pretty much run out of hallways,' she finished, bumping into a camera guy.  
  
"Hey, Sydney," George the Camera Guy greeted her with a casual wave.  
  
"Hi, George. How's life?"  
  
"Not bad. How's the studying going? Anyone find out about that time-turner yet?"  
  
Sydney glared.  
  
"Well, not until you taped yourself asking me about it."  
  
"Oh, it's alright. The sounds off," he lied. J. K. Rowling would pay a fortune for this footage...  
  
"Oh! Great! Hey, is that Malcolm?"  
  
"Who, that?" George pointed.  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
"Sydney, that's a llama."  
  
"...Oops. Hey, what's a llama doing in the school?"  
  
"Ask Mrs. Starkey. I think she's planning on stewing it."  
  
"Oh, that poor llama! I must start a crusade for the rights of llamas! Ooh, there's a book! I don't think I've read that one!"  
  
With that, she skipped down the hallway and picked up the book, flipping through the pages, utterly engrossed.  
  
Two thousand pages and fifteen minutes later, she tossed the book over her shoulder, taking out the llama.  
  
"I was wrong - I've read this one," she giggled, ignoring the small creature's pained squawk as it was hit full-on by 'A Brief History of the First Ninety-Thousand Years of Human Civilization: Unabridged.'  
  
"You read the weirdest stuff," George commented, shaking his head, which caused the camera to bob wildly and give several viewers a strange feeling somewhat like motion sickness.  
  
  
  
"Damn you, George!" a little ninja named Yuffie Kisaragi and her violent motion sickness howled in anguish from her living room where she was worshipping before the altar of all that is evil and immoral - watching TV. Then she sighed happily. "Aside from the crappy camera work, the cheesy dialogue, the one-dimensional characters, the lousy action sequences, and the horrendous acting, this show is great!"  
  
"Yuffie, what tripe are you watching now?" Vincent Valentine sighed.  
  
"Quiet, Vinnie! My show's on! I don't talk during your Masterpiece Theatre, do I?"  
  
"!" he said emphatically.  
  
"Okay, we've been married for two years now, and I still don't know what you're going on about."  
  
"!" he repeated.  
  
At this point, their houseguest walked in, bearing a large bowl of popcorn.  
  
"Xellos!" Vincent and Yuffie exclaimed together. "We told you, when you pay for it, you can make popcorn!"  
  
A silence.  
  
"Well?" Vincent prompted impatiently. "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"^_^"  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, back at North Valley High, Malcolm was wandering the halls aimlessly, utterly at a loss as to what electronic gadget thingy he could infect with a Mega-Virus, that Tanker would likely know how to use.  
  
"Hmm..." he mused. "I don't suppose he would be smart enough to operate a digital watch. And anyway, we've done the digital watch bit."  
  
Smirking at the oddly hilarious recollection of Sydney knocking Tanker unconscious with a punch that ordinarily couldn't have knocked over a house of cards, or even Malcolm, he shook his head.  
  
"I really ought to head to the gym one of these days...if only to see what one looks like. Despite my best intentions, I seem to be about as intimidating as a lab mouse."  
  
This thought trailed off quite abruptly as a sudden impact sent him hurtling to the other end of the hallway, where he collided painfully with the wall, barely hearing an exclamation of,  
  
"Oh, poor little llama!" as he flew.  
  
Once he managed to peel himself from the floor, he glared ferociously at the cause of his sudden and unexpected trip.  
  
"Why don't you watch where you're going?" he growled as intimidatingly as could someone who had just been thrown across a hallway by walking into a girl who had been barely moving.  
  
"Oh, my goodness, Malcolm! What happened to you?"  
  
"You happened to me!"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't feel a thing."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
She frowned.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, fine. Go away."  
  
"Um...okay, I guess..."  
  
Looking slightly hurt, she turned to leave. Then, as a thought occurred, she stopped and turned back.  
  
"By the way, your audition was really good. Much better than..." She paused, considering. "...than...a lot of them."  
  
"Hmph! Not exactly a challenge, there. I had no competition from the males, and only slight competition from the females."  
  
"Yeah, Jennifer was pretty good, wasn't she?"  
  
"Er...right."  
  
"I probably shouldn't say this," she continued, laughing self-consciously, "since almost everyone else auditioning was one of my best friends - except for Bob; he's everyone's best friend - but I really think you should have gotten the part of Macbeth."  
  
"Yes, so do I. I was so good! Better than the rest of you. You were good, but I was better."  
  
"Well, I wasn't auditioning for the part of Macbeth, was I?" she reminded him a trifle on her dignity.  
  
He gave an incredulous snort.  
  
"You would have done a better job than the bozo who got it."  
  
"A twenty-pound sack of creamed spinach would have done a better job than Tanker."  
  
"That's a rather odd thing to say about one's boyfriend, isn't it?"  
  
"Well, Tanker's a lot of things, but an actor isn't one of them."  
  
"No, he certainly isn't," Malcolm agreed shortly. "I could list some of the other things that he isn't, but I don't think you have that kind of time."  
  
"I think you'd be surprised how much time I have," Sydney said with a secretive smile, patting her book bag in which lay the trusty Time-Turner.  
  
"I won't ask," he assured her, rolling his eyes.  
  
Both were silent for about fifteen seconds, glancing awkwardly in opposite directions.  
  
"Oh, alright, I'll ask," Malcolm said abruptly. "What in the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"U-um..." Sydney stammered slightly, looking somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train. "Never mind."  
  
"This isn't that Harry Potter thing again, is it?" he demanded, exasperated. "Do you honestly think that J. K. Rowling has nothing better to do than chase you down because you've stolen a time-traveling gimmick from her little heroine?"  
  
"Ah-HAH!" a voice with a heavy British accent exclaimed in triumph.  
  
The next moment, a woman who may or may not have been J. K. Rowling burst around the corner.  
  
"So it is YOU who have stolen my Time-Turner! Prepare to die!"  
  
"U-um..."  
  
Before Sydney could say another word in her own defence, the crazed woman leapt.  
  
"Ow!" she shrieked as the woman's fist connected with the back of her skull several times in rapid succession. "Malcolm, you wanna help me out here?"  
  
"No," Malcolm replied flatly, leaning against a locker to watch the carnage unfold.  
  
  
  
Five minutes later, the woman who may or may not have been J. K. Rowling strode away, clutching her Time-Turner, and glancing smugly over her shoulder.  
  
"Try to keep up your ninety-six hour days NOW, you little Mudblood!"  
  
"Little...what?" Sydney asked weakly, collapsing to the floor. "...Ow..."  
  
"Hey, was that who I think it was?" Amp demanded as he sprinted around the corner.  
  
"It may or may not have been," Malcolm replied with a shrug. "Or so I'm told."  
  
"Wow! I've got to go get her autograph!"  
  
And with that, Amp bolted from the hallway.  
  
"What a numbskull," Malcolm sighed, turning to leave.  
  
"Hey!" Sydney exclaimed.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're seriously just going to walk away and leave me here, bleeding profusely?!"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"And why not? One of your friends'll find you eventually."  
  
"Don't you have a single spark of human compassion?"  
  
For a moment, he fell silent, considering this. Perhaps he had lived his life as an altogether too callused and inconsiderate person. Perhaps this could be his chance to show another side of his personality, to truly get a new start.  
  
"No," he finally replied as he sauntered away. "I don't."  
  
"Yup," she sighed. "He'd make a great Macbeth. "'She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word,'" she quoted sadly.  
  
"Oh, fine," he sighed, stalking back around the corner. "I'll help."  
  
"What brought about the change of heart?"  
  
He smirked as he knelt by her and helped her to stand.  
  
"Do you really want to know?"  
  
"I'm not sure..."  
  
"Likely the wisest course of action. Can you walk?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He let go of her arm abruptly and started back into the cafeteria.  
  
"Wonderful. Then I don't need to be here."  
  
"Bye," she called after him distractedly.  
  
  
  
"I do hope those moronic girls have stopped throwing fish at everyone who isn't Tanker," Malcolm mused as he made his way back into the cafeteria and over to a table in the farthest corner from the door.  
  
"Ew!" Jennifer shrieked as a fish hit her in the head. "I'm all slimy and icky now! I have to go wash up before my hair starts smelling all bad!"  
  
With that, she fled from the cafeteria...or tried to, at any rate.  
  
"Ow!" she exclaimed as she ran headfirst into the wall right next to the door. "Oops...I feel stupid now."  
  
She backed up and tried again.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
And again.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Ah, Jennifer," Malcolm sighed, watching this scene unfold from his table. "You are divinely beautiful, but sadly, you seem to have the IQ of...of...of twenty pounds of creamed spinach," he finished with a smirk.  
  
"Ow!" she shrieked again. It seemed that the door was just too great a challenge for her to handle.  
  
"Jennifer!" Tanker exclaimed, hurrying to her aid. "You okay, Jennifer?"  
  
"Yeah," she replied gratefully, backing up and trying again. "Ow!"  
  
"Perhaps I ought to think about what exactly it is I see in her," Malcolm noted to himself.  
  
"Rrrgh..." a muffled noise of anger drifted toward him from a table over.  
  
Malcolm turned to behold Sam Collins, glowering at the door that his friend and his girlfriend had finally managed, with a little assistance from Mrs. Starkey, to walk through. More interesting, though, was the doll clutched tightly in Sam's hand. It was a crude representation of a football player with brown hair and a vacant expression. With his other hand, Sam was grinding the tip of a sharpened pencil into the doll's stomach.  
  
"ARGH!" the howl of pain drifted back into the cafeteria. "FOOTBALL!"  
  
  
  
Sam smirked in satisfaction. After all, if Tanker was going to try crap like stealing his, Sam's girlfriend, he deserved no mercy. He grabbed the doll around the stomach and slammed its head repeatedly into the edge of the table, cackling silently to himself as more exclamations of pain from Tanker echoed through the hallway.  
  
"Not much of a likeness. Perhaps a stuffed monkey would have been more appropriate," a voice a table over, drawled. "I must admit, though, that it was a good idea, for a Collins."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Malcolm. You want to try?"  
  
Sam stood and started over to the other table.  
  
"Well..." Malcolm began hesitantly, taking the doll from Sam, "it's out of character, but I'll try it."  
  
Giggling with delight, he set the doll on the floor, and squished it soundly beneath the leg of his chair.  
  
"Now you're getting it!" Sam proclaimed jubilantly.  
  
"So, tell me, not that I'm objecting to putting one of you two in a great deal of pain - I would prefer both, but one's fine, too - but why are we doing this?"  
  
"Sometimes I just get so sick of Tanker," Sam confided, aggrieved. "He's the best quarterback on the team that I was too small to make, he's...um...well, that's about it."  
  
"This is...bitterness that he made the team and you didn't?"  
  
"Well, yeah! The football team gets to ride to all the games with the cheerleaders. I just don't think that's fair! I want to ride with the cheerleaders! Or just ride the cheerleaders."  
  
"Sam! Do you want to take this story up to an 'R' rating?"  
  
"Well...we could do with some blood and guts..."  
  
"Come, now, do you really think there's any room in the budget for that? And keep in mind, we only have one hallway and a cafeteria in this school."  
  
"Yeah, that's true. Oh, look who's back," Sam said resentfully, shaking his fist at Tanker, who had just sauntered back into the cafeteria, looking rather battered, but perfectly happy, clutching his brand new Walkperson.  
  
"Hey, Sam!" he called, making his way over the table. "How's it goin'? Ice, ice, baby," he sang under his breath as he sat. "Ice, ice, baby..."  
  
"Uh...I'm almost afraid to ask, big guy, but what are you listening to?" Sam asked.  
  
"Dmitri Stepanovich Bortnyansky," he replied absently.  
  
"The obscure 18th century Russian composer?" Amp said, approaching the table and seating himself.  
  
"I dunno," Tanker shrugged. "But it sounds cool. Ice, ice, baby..."  
  
"I love that one by him!" Amp proclaimed. "Do you have the next movement, 'Fire, Fire, Baby'?"  
  
"Uh...not on this tape, man," Tanker replied apologetically.  
  
'Wonderful,' Malcolm thought, rolling his eyes. 'Now not only is he stupid, he isn't paying any attention to where he's going or what he's doing, because he's got what few brain cells he has plugged into that little box of wires and circuitry. If only I could somehow use this to my advantage...but how?'  
  
At this point, a little Kilokhan appeared on his left shoulder, gesturing frantically.  
  
"Meat thing!" it exclaimed. "This is it!"  
  
"Oh, no, Malcolm," a little Servo said as it appeared on his right shoulder. "You can't prey on a poor, sweet, helpless boy."  
  
"Who, Tanker?" Malcolm asked the little imaginary Servo. "What's sweet about him?"  
  
"Tanker?" Servo echoed. "Go nuts!"  
  
And with that, he promptly disappeared.  
  
"How odd," Malcolm commented. "Hold on! I just thought of a plan!"  
  
"What, Malcolm?" Sam asked with a frown.  
  
"Er, nothing. I just thought of a wonderful way to...increase school spirit. I should go find the Principal and tell him."  
  
With that, he grabbed his book bag and disappeared, leaving a Malcolm- shaped dust cloud in his wake.  
  
"What a weird guy," Sam commented, grinding the Tanker-doll's head beneath his heel and smirking as Tanker gave a shout of pain.  
  
  
  
"Kilokhan, I call you. Come to me from the digital world," Malcolm muttered under his breath to the screen of his laptop, still set up in his locker.  
  
"I am already here. I am in your laptop, stupid-head. It is not like I have anywhere to go."  
  
"I have decided where to send my new virus," Malcolm announced proudly.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes. We will send the virus into Tanker's personal cassette tape player."  
  
"And what will it do?"  
  
"It will destroy Tanker's brain."  
  
Kilokhan was silent for a moment.  
  
"And so the virus would be, what? One, perhaps two lines of code?"  
  
"Six. I decided upon one for each brain cell."  
  
"I still say it's overkill. What is the virus's exact function?"  
  
"I've utilized a standard search and replace software code. Tanker will be unable to utilize any noun or proper noun. Hmph. If people think he talks a lot about football now, then just wait."  
  
"What is this foot ball of yours?"  
  
"It's a ridiculously stupid meat-thing pastime. It involves two groups of men trying to steal each other's land with a ball as their marker. And apparently, there's some sanction that requires them to wear tight pants as they do so."  
  
"It sounds utterly pointless."  
  
"Right you are, Kilokhan. But try telling that to the armchair jocks."  
  
"I could, you know. I am the overlord of the digital world. I could send a virus to infect their televisions to tell them-"  
  
"Anyway, Kilokhan," Malcolm interrupted, exasperated. "Just bring my virus to life, and we'll call it a day, alright?"  
  
"Oh, very well. I give this virus life!" Kilokhan proclaimed, the screen dividing in two to display Kilokhan on one side, and the virus on the other. Then a beam of energy shot from Kilokhan's eyes, and the virus started waving its little virus-arms and squealing frantically. "It is a rather small virus, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh, mega-byte me, Kilokhan. It's six lines of code! What do you expect?"  
  
"Servo might accidentally step on it," Kilokhan warned.  
  
However, as with all such seers, he was ignored. Malcolm simply smirked.  
  
"You can't destroy what you can't find, now can you?"  
  
"Then how do you suppose that this virus will destroy the Tanker-thing's brain?"  
  
"Just send it, and we'll hope for the best!"  
  
"I'm growing used to that," Kilokhan sighed. 


	3. Act III

Chapter 3  
  
  
  
"Ice, ice, baby," Tanker sang to himself.  
  
"Geez, Tanker, are you still listening to that song?" Sam asked, shaking his head.  
  
Tanker sent Sam a withering glare.  
  
"This is Beethoven, Sam. Don't you recognize the classics, little buddy?"  
  
"Uh...right. Hey, where's Sydney?"  
  
"Uh...who?"  
  
"Your girlfriend? Our best friend since preschool?"  
  
"Does she play football?"  
  
'You don't deserve her,' Sam sighed silently. 'You really don't deserve her.'  
  
"Look, Tank, I'm kinda worried. I think I'll go look for her."  
  
"Great, man. Ice, ice, baby," he sang again.  
  
"Oh, hey, Malcolm," Sam greeted, narrowly avoiding colliding with the other boy on his way out of the cafeteria.  
  
"Hello, Sam," Malcolm said, staring intently at Tanker. 'Any minute now...Tanker's brain will cease to exist.'  
  
Almost on cue, a blue bolt of electricity, which oddly resembled bad special effects, shot from the Walkperson, up through the cord, through the headphones, and directly into Tanker's ears.  
  
"Ice, ice - OW!" Tanker barked. "What in the football was that?"  
  
"Excellent," Malcolm noted. "It's working already."  
  
"Whoa. Maybe football was right. I should go help him look for football. Football...gosh, she's so pretty..."  
  
And so Tanker stood and left the cafeteria, in search of 'football' and 'football,' more commonly known to the rest of the school as Sam Collins and Sydney Forester.  
  
  
  
"So, tell me again, Syd; what happened to you?"  
  
"I've gone through it about four times already, Sam! I was beaten to the ground by someone who may or may not have been J. K. Rowling after she found out that I'd stolen her Time-Turner," Sydney replied tiredly, removing the ice pack and giving her head time to regain feeling before reapplying it. "She said that without it, she'd never have enough time to finish her next book, the eight-thousand page 'Harry Potter and the Mysterious Magical Artifact.'"  
  
"I know, I know," Sam sighed. "My fault for asking. Anyway, you wanna get out of here?"  
  
"The nurse wants to keep me here until the end of the day in case of concussions."  
  
"Bummer," Sam noted in sympathy.  
  
"To say the least," Sydney agreed, grimacing at the back of Nurse Stanley's head.  
  
"Football! Football! Here you are! Do you know how long it took me to find you?" a voice demanded from the doorway. "And here you were, in the football, the whole football."  
  
Sam and Sydney turned slowly in the direction from which the question had come. Tanker frowned sternly at them.  
  
"Football?" Sam muttered. "And football? In the football? Is this some sort of bad metaphor?"  
  
"Maybe I should keep you here in case of concussions," Nurse Stanley spoke up, eyeing the young man suspiciously.  
  
"Um...Tanker?" Sydney began hesitantly. "Are you okay?"  
  
The quarterback made his way over to her chair and knelt next to it, taking her hand.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Are YOU okay, football?"  
  
She blinked.  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
"Are you okay?" he pressed.  
  
"Yeah, I'm alright, considering, but...did you just call me...football?"  
  
"Twice?" Sam added.  
  
Tanker scratched his head and turned to Sam.  
  
"What are you talking about, football?"  
  
"There!" Sam exclaimed. "You did it again!"  
  
Tanker shrugged.  
  
"Whatever, football. I've gotta get to football, or football, football, and football will have my football. I need to learn my football, and I can't do it from the football's football."  
  
"Uh...what?" Sam asked hesitantly as the taller boy left the nurse's office.  
  
Sydney shook her head, baffled.  
  
"Tanker's spouting gibberish."  
  
"Very footballish gibberish," Sam added.  
  
"Oh, no," Sydney sighed as something occurred to her. "The play! They're probably rehearsing now. I've got to get out of here."  
  
"But the nurse wants you here until the end of the day!"  
  
The dramatic music played in the background. Sam and Sydney both glared briefly at the guy wandering past with the boom box.  
  
"I know," she groaned. Then she blinked. Then she turned to the young man and seized his arm. "Sam!" she hissed. "Create a diversion. I'm breakin' out."  
  
"Sydney!" Sam exclaimed reproachfully.  
  
"Sam!" she exclaimed back, and then lowered her voice and continued. "Look, if I don't get to that rehearsal, Mandi, Candi, and Brandi are going to hate me...even more than usual."  
  
"Um...and?"  
  
"This is my chance to finally break out of my shell of shyness and become a Broadway star! I can't throw it away by missing the first and most pivotal rehearsal!"  
  
"I thought you had a dream of going to Harvard..."  
  
"Yeah! Harvard School of Acting!"  
  
"Wow...I knew they had a school of law, but I didn't know about any school of acting."  
  
"A girl can dream, can't she?" Then she turned toward the imaginary camera. "Remember, Sam, always follow your dreams!"  
  
"Of course!" Sam agreed. "What else makes life worth living?"  
  
"Uh.money? Power? The violent and bloody deaths of ones' enemies?" Malcolm suggested. "Ooh! Ooh! A new hard drive!"  
  
"Uh...hi, Malcolm," Sam greeted hesitantly.  
  
"Shouldn't you be at rehearsal?" Sydney wondered.  
  
"I was on my way," he explained. "And I thought I'd stop by and pick up the trash."  
  
"That isn't funny, Malcolm," Sam said severely. "Don't talk about Sydney that way! She's going to go to Harvard School of Acting, you know."  
  
"I was referring to you," Malcolm sighed. "And I refuse to comment on the Harvard School of Acting. I graduated from the Princeton School of Acting."  
  
"What's that, the Princeton Preschool of Acting?" Sydney scoffed, crossing her arms and looking away.  
  
"That's where I graduated from!" Amp announced as he sauntered past in his tutu. "When I graduated, they gave me a diploma, an academy award, and a lollipop! It was red! I lucked out, alright!"  
  
For a moment, everyone was struck speechless. Then, very slowly, Sam stood up.  
  
"Okay, against my better instincts, we'd better get going. If we continue to have these meandering conversations, the plot will never develop. We only have half an hour."  
  
"We could make it a two-parter," Malcolm suggested.  
  
"Actually, we're already on Part 3," Sydney informed everyone. "I think it's Yezo's influence."  
  
"What?! A three-part episode of Super Human Samurai Syber-Squad?" Malcolm exclaimed, dismayed. "The people who watch this show don't have the attention span to last through the first commercial break!"  
  
"Malcolm!" Sydney admonished severely. "Stop alienating the fan-base!"  
  
"What fan-base?"  
  
She scratched her head...or her hat, at any rate.  
  
"Good point. Well, stop alienating Yezo!"  
  
"Uh, guys?" Sam prompted. "To rehearsal!"  
  
  
  
Ten minutes later, after getting hopelessly lost somewhere around the boiler room, during which Sam became slightly panicked when he found himself alone, the three arrived at the cafeteria.  
  
"Where were you two, anyway?" Sam demanded as Malcolm and Sydney staggered into the room behind him, looking somewhat dishevelled and very happy.  
  
"We found the principal's secret chocolate stash!" Sydney explained. "It was crammed into this little tunnel on the wall, and it took a little doing to get to it."  
  
"You stepped on my head," Malcolm informed her moodily, before turning happily back to his chocolate bunny.  
  
"Oh, the footprint looks good on you," Sam assured him, snickering.  
  
"It'd be better on your football, though!" another voice proclaimed from the stage.  
  
They whirled about to behold the rather strange sight of Tanker in tights, complete with his football jacket and helmet.  
  
"Um...Tanker," Sydney began, not quite certain if even asking why was a good idea, "you do know that you don't need the tights for the first rehearsal, right?"  
  
"You mean I can do it naked?! That's sick!"  
  
"Er, that wasn't quite what I meant," she told him. "Although that wouldn't be bad..."  
  
"Ergh..." Malcolm erghed, gritting his teeth. "Can we begin, please?"  
  
"Why are you here?" Mandi chirped from the stage. "You're just the understudy."  
  
"Erghhhhh..."  
  
With that, the little Kilokhan appeared on his left shoulder again.  
  
"Kill them. Kill them all," it urged, poking him in the side of the head.  
  
A little Servo appeared on his right shoulder.  
  
"Eh," it shrugged. "Go nuts. But let Syd live. She makes me lots of cool weapons and stuff!"  
  
Malcolm nodded in agreement, then blinked as something struck him as rather odd.  
  
"What did you say, Servo?" he demanded.  
  
"I didn't say any-" Sam began, the stopped abruptly, reconsidering. "Who are you talking to, Malcolm?"  
  
"Er, no one," he assured the other young man.  
  
"Oh." Sam blinked. "Good."  
  
"Guys-uh!" Brandi exclaimed impatiently. "Can we have Macduff and Lady Macbeth on the stage, please?!"  
  
"I was spoken to by a football of three footballs," Tanker was meanwhile reading. "They told me to take a football and stab the football right in the football!"  
  
"Wow..." Yoli said, shaking her head. "Not only is that so not his line, that's not even Shakespeare."  
  
"Give him a break, Yoli," Jennifer admonished. "I think Tanker's doing a wonderful job."  
  
"He's awful, Jen!"  
  
Jennifer tilted her head to one side in consideration.  
  
"Yeah, you're right. He is, isn't he? What were the 'di's' thinking?"  
  
"Ooh! Ooh! Can I hazard a guess?" Mrs. Starkey pleaded.  
  
"Go ahead, Mrs. S," Jennifer laughed.  
  
"How about 'duh?'"  
  
"Sounds about right," Yoli agreed with a shrug.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Bwah!" the tiny virus shouted from somewhere, skipping merrily around. "I control all! Within this Walkperson, at any rate! Ugh...I hate my life."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Syd, I've been thinking a little more about could possibly be wrong with Tanker," Sam muttered as the two were seated in little plastic chairs at the side of the stage, waiting for Tanker, Brandi, Candi, and Mandi, and Amp were rehearsing the scene between Macbeth, Banquo, and the three witches.  
  
Apparently, in this version, it ended with a huge make-out scene between Macbeth and the witches three, as Sydney had taken to calling them even before they had cast themselves in the roles.  
  
"Hey, is this make-out scene really necessary?" she called, completely ignoring Sam's question.  
  
"About as necessary as Lady Banquo," a very bored Yoli sighed from the chair next to her. Then she stood up resolutely and marched toward Amp. "Okay, you guys, this is the part of the play where Lady Banquo comes and drags Banquo off to a secluded cave somewhere so they can make little baby Banquos."  
  
"Whoa!" Amp shrieked as he was dragged off.  
  
Sam frowned.  
  
"Hey! That's my line! And Sydney, did you even hear me?"  
  
"Um...what?" she asked absently, still glaring black death at the three directors/witches.  
  
"I said, I've been thinking about what's wrong with Tanker."  
  
"Is that in alphabetical order, or in the order you've noticed then through the years?" Malcolm put in.  
  
"Go away, Malcolm!" Sam requested.  
  
"Yeah, I've noticed a few things wrong with him," Sydney replied, ignoring Malcolm. "He's pitifully stupid, obsessed with football, and completely inconsiderate. He sure looks good in tights, though," she finished, gazing appreciatively at his backside. "But he's certainly not putting up much of a fight when he has to make out with three girls!"  
  
"No offence, Syd, but neither would I," Sam admitted apologetically.  
  
"Nor I," Malcolm agreed. "Although, making out with one would be sufficient."  
  
"Oh, shut up! Both of you!" Sydney exclaimed.  
  
"Hey, football," Tanker called pleadingly as Brandi temporarily released him long enough to breathe. "I have to make footballs for my football!"  
  
Malcolm cackled evilly, drumming the tips of his fingers together.  
  
"Everything's working out perfectly...I am the greatest evil boy genius in the world."  
  
The little Kilokhan appeared on his shoulder.  
  
"Yes, Malcolm, you are completely brilliant. I love and respect you."  
  
Then the little Servo appeared on his other shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, Malcolm, even though you're my enemy, I love and respect you, too."  
  
"It's weird, Servo," Malcolm noted, scratching his head. "You sound an awful lot like Sam Collins, only more echoey, and slightly lower in pitch, like a bad special effect."  
  
"Uh...I'm sure it's just a coincidence," the Servo perched on his shoulder laughed nervously.  
  
Malcolm beamed.  
  
"I love my shoulder angels..."  
  
"Um...your what?" Sam asked, frowning.  
  
"Uh...er...nothing! I just meant that...er.I've been under a lot of pressure lately. Maybe I need a nap."  
  
"Oh! Well, maybe you just need to lie down for a while," Sydney suggested. "C'mon, I'll take you to the nurse's office."  
  
"No thank you, that won't be necessary," he replied.  
  
"I'm going to the nurse's office with or without you, Malcolm. I can't watch any more of this..."  
  
"Nor can I," he agreed. "It looks like some sort of primate mating ritual."  
  
"Yeah, I remember seeing something like that when I was living with the pack of wild chimps on the Serengeti," Amp announced.  
  
"Amp, you aren't here!" Sam reminded him. "You're in the closet with Yoli!"  
  
"Oh, right!" Amp laughed as he disappeared in a puff of continuity.  
  
"Odd," Malcolm frowned. "I've never seen continuity on this show before."  
  
"Malcolm!" Sydney called sharply. "We were taking you to the nurse's office, remember?"  
  
"More continuity?" he gasped. "I...I feel funny..."  
  
"That's because you're going to pass out if you don't lie down soon," she announced, poking him in the arm.  
  
"Oh, all right," he grumbled. "Let's go."  
  
"Is this a football I see before me?" Tanker's voice drifted after them.  
  
"Like, no! It's a dagger," Mandi informed him, annoyed.  
  
"Let's rehearse the make-out scene again!" Candi suggested excitedly.  
  
"It's a hard football," Tanker sighed, only half reluctant.  
  
The sound of creaking teeth filled the air.  
  
"Let's go, Malcolm," Sydney pleaded. "If I stay in here for another second, there'll be little bits of blonde hair lying everywhere, and the blood of three idiotic witches will run like water."  
  
"I am seeing you in a whole new light," Malcolm sighed, watching with hands clasped and eyes shiny.  
  
"That's because the budget's gone up, and we replaced the one that burned out last year," she told him as they left the cafeteria. "Someone found twenty bucks in the lining of their coat!"  
  
  
  
"Hey, where do you think those two are going?" Yoli muttered aside to Amp as they wandered back to the stage.  
  
Amp's eyes widened.  
  
"You don't think they're going to do what WE were doing, do you?"  
  
Yoli gasped in dismay.  
  
"Oh, lord, I hope not. That would just...oh, lord, no."  
  
Amp shuddered.  
  
"They're not...they're not ready!"  
  
"Yeah!" Yoli agreed. "Something like that requires a lot of forethought and preparation."  
  
"I know! And we used up all the ingredients on OUR batch of brownies!"  
  
"They do smell good, though," the young woman admitted, breathing in the aroma.  
  
"Snack-tacular!" Amp agreed, grinning.  
  
"Do you ever run out of those?" she asked, smiling up at him fondly.  
  
"No-tacular!" 


	4. Act IV

Chapter 4  
  
  
  
"Erm...where's Nurse Stanley?" Sydney mused, glancing about the small nurse's office.  
  
"Well, from this note saying 'Gone for lunch; back in forty,' I would infer that she has gone for a light midday meal, and she'll be back in a short period of time," Malcolm replied.  
  
"You're such a smart-ass," she sighed.  
  
"Oh, you should talk," he scoffed. "Is there a single book in the school library that you haven't read?"  
  
"Er...yes," she replied, eyes shifting from side to side guiltily and whistling innocently. "The innocent whistle...can't go wrong with the innocent whistle. That...would have been more effective if I hadn't said it out loud."  
  
"You're reading one right now! Actually, you're reading two!"  
  
"Oh, fine," she sighed, tossing 'Hyperspace' over one shoulder, and 'A History of Early Man' over the other. "There. No books. Are you happy now?"  
  
"I'll be happy once you take the Latin-English dictionary out of your ankle- holster," he replied dryly.  
  
"How did you know about my emergency back-up book?"  
  
"I have one, too," he confessed, pulling the leg of his pants up over his ankle.  
  
"Oh, yeah! 'How to Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps, by Kilo K. Han,'" she read. "I don't think I've read that one. Could I borrow it?"  
  
"I...don't think so. A...friend of mine lent it to me."  
  
"I'll be careful with it! I could probably get it back to you by the end of they day," she wheedled, gazing pleadingly at him.  
  
"No, I really can't."  
  
"Can I borrow that other one, then?" she asked, picking up the book under his arm.  
  
"Er...you want to borrow 'How To Steal the Woman of Your Dreams from Her Idiot Boyfriend'?"  
  
She inspected the cover.  
  
"Is this Homer Ecker guy any good?"  
  
"Well, he should be an expert on relationships. He's been married seventeen times...including once, to Mrs. Starkey. And give me back my other book!"  
  
She whimpered sadly as she clung to 'How To Make Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'  
  
"But I've already got up to chapter 3! This is fascinating!"  
  
"I think you have a problem, Sydney," he sighed, gently prying the book from her hand.  
  
"Books...so happy...so many pretty words...can forget about the horrible things in your life...like an idiot boyfriend who barely feigns reluctance at the idea of making out with three blonde bimbos at once..."  
  
"Sydney...you aren't talking about...Tanker, are you?"  
  
"Well...maybe," she admitted guardedly.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"I don't know what to tell you. It seems to me that starting up with him is tantamount to asking for trouble."  
  
"I know," she said softly, trying to surreptitiously tug 'How To Make Mega- Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps' back out of his grasp.  
  
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a book-fix isn't going to solve your problems forever," he said dryly, snatching the book back.  
  
"Name one problem!"  
  
"Running out of books?"  
  
A pause.  
  
"Name another one!"  
  
"This one."  
  
"I could test the power of books to make me forget about this, if you'd just GIVE ME THE DAMN BOOK!"  
  
"Calm down! And, no! My book!"  
  
And thus ensued a tug-of-war for the precious tome of wisdom.  
  
"Mine!" Sydney insisted.  
  
"Mine!" Malcolm countered.  
  
"Mine!"  
  
"Mine!"  
  
"Mine!"  
  
"Mine!"  
  
At this point, Amp bolted into the room.  
  
"No! You two must not fight! Fighting is a terrible, terrible thing! Let me tell you a tale from my youth. When I was young, I saw a tree. It was a lovely tree, with many beautiful leaves. But then the harsh autumn came, and the leaves fell, bitten by the cruel frost. And the tree was sad. Don't you see? Fighting is like the frost that bites the tree. But the tree tastes like bitterness!"  
  
"Um...Amp? Are you okay?" Sydney asked hesitantly.  
  
"Fine! Why?" he replied with a shrug.  
  
"Well, that's got to be one of the strangest things you've ever said."  
  
"That's what the tree fairy said when I told it the story!"  
  
"Well, congratulations, Amp."  
  
"What for, Malcolm?"  
  
"You've managed to surpass even your own stupidity. Ow!" he shrieked as Sydney swatted his shoulder with all the force of a light breeze.  
  
"Be nice!" she admonished.  
  
"Why?" he demanded.  
  
"Because...because...if you're nice to other people, maybe they'll be nice to you!"  
  
"That sounds needlessly optimistic."  
  
"Well...it isn't! People are basically good, even you! You pretend to be all mean, and evil, and hateful, but there's good in you somewhere, if very, very deep down."  
  
"Very."  
  
"Uh..." Amp began hesitantly. "I came to take you two back to rehearsal."  
  
"Wasn't I supposed to lie down?" Malcolm asked, crossing his arms.  
  
"Oh, right! So, go lie down, then," Sydney suggested, "and Amp and I will go back to rehearsal."  
  
"Yeah, you're missing Tanker's big moment! He's making out with three girls!" Amp exclaimed.  
  
"On second thought," she sighed, "maybe I should stay here. Or go home. Yeah! Going home is happy. Nice computer there...won't judge me for reading too much...won't make out with three gorgeous, if idiotic blondes...I love my computer...calm down, Sydney. Think of your computer, and happy thoughts will follow. Happy...happy..."  
  
"Er...I don't think you should be alone right now," Malcolm said hesitantly, taking her arm and leading her to one of the cots lining the wall. "Lie down here for a while."  
  
"What did I say?" Amp wondered. Then he shrugged. "Alright. Back to rehearsal. I hope Yoli saved me some brownies! Brownies! It's what's for dinner!"  
  
With that, he bolted from the nurse's office.  
  
"Happy...happy..." Sydney was meanwhile chanting, curled into a little ball.  
  
"Sydney. Calm down. Or I'll sick Kilokhan on you!"  
  
"So...happy...so - what?"  
  
"I'm sorry; I had to say something to snap you out of it," Malcolm shrugged.  
  
"It sounded like you said 'Kilokhan,'" she noted with a frown.  
  
"Er...I said 'Genghis Khan.' He was an ancient ruler, you know. Uh...here's a book on him!"  
  
He tossed the heavy hardcover volume at her, half wondering what it was doing in the nurse's office.  
  
"I've read it," she said listlessly.  
  
"Er...how about this one: 'Pagan Rituals of the Malay Peninsula.' What a strange reader Nurse Stanley is," he commented with a shake of his head.  
  
"I've read that one, too."  
  
"Well...um...how was it?"  
  
"It was good. He dies in the end, though."  
  
"Well, rituals, you know how it is."  
  
"Um...not really."  
  
"Well, I had to get you talking about something other than Tanker. Damn," he finished with a sigh as her eyes grew wide and shiny with tears.  
  
"Oh, Tanker, you bastard," she sobbed, curling back up into a little ball, anime tear jets shooting out to either side of her face.  
  
"How is she doing that?" he wondered, surveying the hydro-pump tears in amazement. "It must be the magic of the nurse's office. Or perhaps...the absurdity of the Fates."  
  
  
  
And somewhere else entirely, Bezo-Fate turned to Yezo-Fate.  
  
"Are we absurd?" he demanded, polishing the Masamune-twig.  
  
She turned from her eternal quest to catch the bunny.  
  
"You're polishing a twig, honey. Do you really need to ask?"  
  
"Hmm...good point. Let's make out," he suggested eagerly, tossing the twig to the side and accidentally impaling the bunny.  
  
"O-kay!" she chirped, having the attention span of a hyperactive moth in a fireworks show.  
  
  
  
And now, back to Super Human Samurai Syber-Squad, currently being written by other people, as the Bezo-Fate and the Yezo-Fate are...um...slightly busy.  
  
  
  
"Um...why did everything just go dark?" Sydney wondered, straightening up and drying her eyes on her hat.  
  
"I do not know; all I know is that there has been an overwhelming darkness in my soul until this moment, for not until this moment did I realize the stunning greenness of your eyes."  
  
"They're brown," she interjected.  
  
"That's what I said. The stunning brownness of your eyes."  
  
"A touching observation, dear gentleman, but I entreat you, go back to the rehearsal. You must not miss your one great chance at stardom for my sake."  
  
"For one second in your arms, I would give all the stars in the heavens, throw them down to the earth, and step on them!"  
  
"Oh, Malcolm!"  
  
"Oh, Sydney!"  
  
"Oh, crap," Bezo and Yezo spoke up together. "We turn our backs for one minute," Bezo continued, "and look what happens!"  
  
"You two go all romance-novel on us!" Yezo exclaimed. "Well, that's it! We're takin' over again. Get outta here, Danielle Steele!"  
  
"Fine," Danielle Steele harrumphed, stalking away. "Danielle Steele doesn't need this; Danielle Steele's gonna go write her own world. And she'll live in it forever."  
  
As she reached the door, she turned back and gazed piercingly at Sydney for a moment.  
  
"Men are pigs. Remember that."  
  
And, with the swish of a cape that she wasn't wearing, she was gone.  
  
"You don't need to tell me that!" Sydney called after her. "I'm dating Tanker!"  
  
"Yes, well, we're trying to remedy that, now aren't we?" Malcolm muttered aside.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, Sam Collins was having something of an internal monologue.  
  
'Wow...Tanker's usually stupid, but he's REALLY stupid right now. He's not usually this bad. He may talk a lot about football, but he usually talks about food, too. Today, it's all football. I wonder if there's some deeper explanation for this. God, Jennifer's cute...she's perfect in every way. And her acting? Well, that can't be beat. They say love is blind; what do they know? I say, she looks good, and I love that! No, Sam! Tanker's got a problem! Focus on that! Focus, Sam. Focus on Tanker's problem.'  
  
'He's stupid,' Sam's brain chimed in.  
  
'Hmm...you've got a point,' Sam said to his brain.  
  
'And he thinks he's clever, but he's not,' the brain added.  
  
'You don't have to tell me,' Sam winced, thinking of Giga-Butt. Then, a little tiny light bulb appeared over his head. "Hold on!" he yelped aloud, leaping from his seat. "I'll bet Tanker's stupidity is of digital causes!"  
  
"Football?" Tanker asked from the stage, pulling away from his entourage, which, oddly enough, carried on with the make-out scene without him momentarily, not noticing that he was gone.  
  
"Hey!" Candi exclaimed, pouting. "Our Tanker's gone!"  
  
"Get back here!" Mandi growled fiercely, dragging Tanker back into the middle of the circle.  
  
"Football," Tanker sighed happily.  
  
"Yeah, I've gotta work fast. Let's Samurize, guys!" Sam shouted, about to strike a power chord before noticing that his guitar wasn't there. "Oh, right," he sighed. "I need a guitar. But where would I find a guitar in a high school with an extensive band program?"  
  
He pondered this for a moment.  
  
"I know! The science lab!"  
  
  
  
  
  
An hour later, Sam came to realize that neither the science lab, the English classrooms, the History classrooms, the language labs, the math hallway, the gymnasium, the janitor's closet, nor the washrooms (male or female) held the needed guitar.  
  
"But where else is there to check?" he wondered, scratching his head. Then the little light bulb made a reappearance over his head. "I've got it! The nurse's office! Sydney will know where to look! Sam, you are a genius!"  
  
  
  
"Y'know," Malcolm began, taking a sip from his teacup, "I'm really surprised we're here at all. I didn't think this show would last another season."  
  
"Me neither," Sydney agreed, draining her own teacup, and then frowning at it. "I think the teacups would make a lot more sense if we weren't drinking vodka out of them."  
  
"Careful," Malcolm grinned, nudging her with his elbow. "We're supposed to be sixteen." Then he noticed George the Camera Guy. "Oh, shit, we're back!" he yelped, tossing his teacup over his shoulder, then grabbing hers and tossing it at George.  
  
"Ow!" George shrieked. "You jerk!"  
  
"And just what are you going to do about it? I am a star on this show. I am in the limelight at all moments. And you? You are a lowly camera man," Malcolm smirked.  
  
"I'm union," George informed him smugly, pointing to the Mafia teamsters behind him.  
  
"Dammit," Malcolm hissed. "Sorry about the cup. I didn't see you there. My eyes are going in my old age."  
  
"Sixteen, you idiot! You're sixteen!" Sydney reminded him with a gentle kick that sent him flying across the room.  
  
"Ack!" Malcolm shrieked as he sailed through the air and collided with the wall with a loud thump.  
  
"Oh, hey, Malcolm," Sam greeted as he sauntered into the room, inadvertently smacking the young man in the head with the door.  
  
"I hate you all!" Malcolm howled. "I wish I was union!"  
  
"Did I come at a bad time?" Sam asked.  
  
"Actually, yes," the dark-haired youth replied. "We were all breaking character."  
  
"On this show?" Sam laughed, raising an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Dressing up as...no, that's been done. Throwing hotdogs at each other and...no, we did that, too. Having a big pyjama party...no, we've done that one, too! Ah! Got it! Dancing around, singing striptease songs and undressing slowly?"  
  
Malcolm paused, considering this.  
  
"I hadn't thought of that. It sounds like a good idea. Sam, go away. George, you too."  
  
With a shrug, Sam started out of the room, followed by George. Upon noticing that everyone was leaving, Sydney stood and prepared to follow them.  
  
"Not you," Malcolm told her. "You stay. Get up on the table and dance and sing striptease songs."  
  
"What then?" she asked, scratching her head in confusion.  
  
"Whatever comes naturally," he replied with a wicked smile.  
  
"But...I think something was happening with the plot," she protested.  
  
"Plot?" Sam echoed. "What's a plot?"  
  
"Never mind, Sam. In fact, I think there's a guitar out on the football field. Why don't you go look for it?" Malcolm suggested, subtly shoving Sam toward the door.  
  
"Okay!" Sam agreed jubilantly from out in the hallway.  
  
"Wait a second, Sam!" George's shout was audible through the door. "I think it was a...never mind," he sighed as Sam presumably disappeared from the hall. "Nobody ever listens to George. C'mon, Teamsters! Let's go get ice cream!"  
  
"Ice cream?!" one of the Teamsters echoed, also from out in the hallway. "You the best boss!"  
  
"Fawgheddaboudit!" George drawled.  
  
Sydney blinked.  
  
"Um...that was weird."  
  
"Now, let's get with the table-dancing!" Malcolm urged.  
  
"But I'm reading!" she protested, pointing to his copy of 'How to Create Mega-Virus Monsters in Three Easy Steps.'  
  
"Give me that!" he exclaimed, yanking the book from her grip.  
  
"But I'm up to Chapter 8! If you'd just give me a few more minutes, I could read the other five chapters, and I'd be done! Heck, Chapter 9, just while we were talking! And from this distance!"  
  
"I don't know whether you're really amazing, or terrifyingly scary," Malcolm sighed, shaking his head at the multi-thousand-word book.  
  
"Terrifyingly scary," Sydney repeated slowly. "That seems a little redundant, but I like it!"  
  
"Anyway, get dancing!"  
  
"But I want to read!"  
  
"Alright, then; read. But you can only wear the book."  
  
"I think that would take us to at least a PG-13 rating..."  
  
"Well, sacrifices are part of the theatre."  
  
"Theatre! What does this show have to do with the theatre?"  
  
"You have a good point there," Malcolm started to reply thoughtfully, but was interrupted as Sam charged into the room.  
  
"You tricked me!" he threw at Malcolm with an accusing glare.  
  
"Wha...?"  
  
"There was no guitar on the football field!"  
  
"Sam," Sydney interjected wearily, "if you actually fell for that, I don't think the real problem here is with Malcolm trying to trick you."  
  
"And just what's THAT supposed to mean, Syd?" Sam demanded suspiciously. "How do I know you're not in on it?"  
  
"In...on...it? I feel dizzy," Sydney whimpered.  
  
"Look, Sydney," Sam began slowly, as might one who was speaking to a very stubborn child, "we have a bit of a problem, and we don't have time to play your head-games right now."  
  
With that, he seized a very bewildered Sydney by the arm and dragged her from the nurse's office under the eyes of a very bewildered Malcolm. 


	5. Act V

Chapter 5  
  
  
  
"Keep 'em coming," Bob commanded of the guy behind the counter of the Soda Shop (tm).  
  
"Er...don't you think you've had enough?" the soda vendor spoke up hesitantly.  
  
"I'll tell you when I've had enough," the young man slurred back with a vicious glare, swaying unsteadily.  
  
"Fine, fine," the vendor sighed, sliding another chocolate milkshake across the bar, next to the six empty milkshake glasses already lined up in front of Bob. "Y'know, there wasn't actually any alcohol in these. You shouldn't be drunk."  
  
"Shaddup! I'll be whatever I want! You can't tell me what to do! Yer not the boss of me!"  
  
The vendor sighed and put another empty milkshake glass next to the six others in attempt to shame him into stopping.  
  
"See? Look! Now you've had seven!"  
  
"What?!" Bob exclaimed. "When did I have another one?"  
  
"You need to stop, Sir. You're not even able to keep track anymore. You're not driving home in that condition!"  
  
"Like Hell I'm not!" Bob spat at the unfortunate man in the little white hat. "Gimme my keys!"  
  
"Er, Sir, I don't have your keys."  
  
"Good, 'cause I don't have a car. I came here on a skateboard," Bob chuckled. Then, seconds later, he broke down in a fit of sobs. "Everybody's mean to me!"  
  
"Oh..." the vendor sighed hesitantly. "You...wanna talk about it?"  
  
"No," Bob whimpered.  
  
"That's good. I gotta close up in a minute."  
  
"But it's only four in the afternoon!"  
  
"Yeah, but I don't like you," the vendor, who we shall now give the name of Phil, shrugged.  
  
"That's just the problem!" Bob wailed. "Nobody likes me! They all say they like me, but as soon as I need money, or someone to give me the keys to my skateboard, they don't do it! They're all like, 'Oh, Bob! Everyone loves Bob!' Well, if everyone loves Bob, why doesn't anyone ever help Bob?!"  
  
"Aw, that's too bad. Here. Have another chocolate milkshake on me," he said, expression sympathetic, but inwardly cackling with glee at the forty dollars the young man already owed him for the frozen milk-chocolately treats.  
  
"Thanks, Phil!" Bob wept, overcome with emotion. "You're the best pal I ever had! Sometimes I think you're the only who respects me around here!"  
  
"Wrong," Phil corrected flatly.  
  
"Hmm," Bob sighed. "I'd better leave that while it's still ambiguous."  
  
Phil sighed, knowing full well that this young man would not take his skateboard and find someone else to bother until he got to tell the sob- story that he obviously wanted to.  
  
"Look, kid, you sure you don't wanna talk about it?"  
  
"They all hate my acting!" Bob wailed. "Everyone else got a part in the school play, but not ol' Bob! Bobby just wasn't good enough! Even Tanker got a part! He got the star role!"  
  
"Well, Bob," Phil started, leaning against the counter, "in the television show of life, there are principle characters, and there are secondary characters."  
  
"And I suppose I'm a secondary character," Bob huffed, crossing his arms.  
  
"No, no, Bob, there's another class that I forgot to mention: the extras."  
  
"I'm an extra, aren't I?" Bob sighed in resignation.  
  
"No, you see, Bob, there are also the caterers."  
  
"I'm a caterer?!" Bob wailed.  
  
"Let's just say that SOMEONE has to bring the caterers their coffee. And that's where you come in, in the great television show that we call life."  
  
"I thought we called this television show 'Super-Human Samurai Syber Squad,'" Bob mused, scratching his head.  
  
"Shut up, Bob," Phil commanded menacingly. "Until now, you were only Unnamed Extra #7. Only Bezo and Yezo saw fit to truly bring you to life by giving you the name of Bob. They're like your parents, in a way."  
  
"Oh, no, we're not!" Yezo's voice shouted from the sky. "No kids! No kids EVER!"  
  
"Yeah," Bezo's voice agreed. "Kids are smelly, and they wanna play on my Playstation 2! MY Playstation 2! Rrr!"  
  
"Shut up, Narration!" Bob howled at the ceiling.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Syd, I really think there's something wrong with Tanker," Sam told his friend seriously.  
  
"We covered that, Sam. He's stupid, obsessed with football, and...stupid," she concluded, ticking them off on her fingers. "Oh! And he's a bad actor!"  
  
"No, no! This time I'm talking about a different problem!"  
  
"His horrible foot odour?" Sydney suggested.  
  
"Y'know, I never noticed that," Sam admitted. "Hey, speaking of things wrong with Tanker, have you ever seen him play the drums?"  
  
"Come to think of it, I haven't," Sydney noted, frowning. "While we're on the subject, have you ever played your guitar?"  
  
"Y'know, now that you mention it, I haven't. Aside from that one chord," he amended, laughing. "Whenever I play that chord, I get sucked into the computer! It makes it really hard to practice! Not that I ever do...the phone rings every time I'm about to."  
  
"Yeah! I wonder why that is..."  
  
"Hey, weren't we talking about something?" Sam mused, scratching his head as the two wandered aimlessly through the hallway, being randomly distracted by brightly coloured objects.  
  
"Yeah - we were talking about all the things wrong with Tanker."  
  
"Hey, this is only a half-hour show," Sam laughed. "Maybe if this was a three-part episode, we'd be able to cover a quarter. Tanker's problems could easily fill up a season. Hey! We should do that! We desperately need ideas."  
  
"NO!" Yoli barked as she happened past. "I refuse to do a whole season about Tanker!"  
  
With that, she promptly disappeared, having been brought into the scene only long enough to deliver a needed line and vanish conveniently, such as was the way of the show.  
  
Sam and Sydney watched her depart, blinking in confusion.  
  
"Hey! I remember what we were talking about now!" Sam exclaimed jubilantly, hiding the script behind his back.  
  
"Of course you do, Sam," Sydney sighed. "It says right here on Page 45: 'Sam and Sydney figure out that a Mega-Virus Monster is the source of Tanker's problem.' Only one of them," she scoffed.  
  
"Isn't it always a Mega-Virus Monster?" Sam demanded, annoyed. "Seriously! It's always a Mega-Virus Monster! Can someone even get a cold in this town without it being a Mega-Virus Monster?"  
  
"That's beside the point, Sam," Sydney proclaimed, slipping into dramatic mode, which in and of itself was one of the greater examples of irony to occur that day. "Now that we know what it is, we must destroy the virus, and save Tanker's brain!" Then she scratched her hat. "I don't know, Sam. It seems kinda like a doomed mission to me."  
  
"You're dating the guy," Sam reminded her mildly.  
  
"Yeah, but Malcolm's cute," she shrugged.  
  
"How can you say such a thing about our evil nemesis?!" Sam exclaimed. "That's just the Rhianwen 'shippiness talking!"  
  
"But...I thought this was written by Bezo and Yezo," Sydney mused as the two came to a stop in front of her locker, in which conveniently resided her laptop, despite the fact that she had earlier left it in the cafeteria.  
  
"Uh, Syd? Rhianwen IS Yezo," Sam informed her gently.  
  
"What?!" Sydney exclaimed, feeling horribly betrayed for about half a second. Then she brightened. "Ooh! Does that mean it might degenerate into smut?"  
  
"I don't think so," Sam shrugged, then frowned as she opened the door of her locker and turned on her laptop. "Didn't you leave that in the cafeteria earlier?"  
  
"What? Of course not," Sydney scoffed. "If I left it in the cafeteria, it would still be there, and it wouldn't be in my locker! Don't you think this show has continuity?"  
  
"Hey, guys," a young man with shoulder-length blond hair greeted them.  
  
"Hey, Lucky," they both greeted as he rounded a corner.  
  
"Yeah, you're right, Syd," Sam agreed. "This show has flawless continuity! Now, let's go save Tanker's brain!"  
  
"But...but how?"  
  
"I know!" Sam exclaimed. "Let's write a musical about it!"  
  
With that, a triumphant march struck up in the background, and Sam began marching jauntily in place.  
  
"Sam," Sydney began, poking him repeatedly in the side. "Don't you think it might be a little more effective if you go into the computer and beat the virus?"  
  
"What?" Sam blinked. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure."  
  
And so, reluctantly halting in his march, he struck a pose.  
  
"Let's..." he began slowly.  
  
"SAMURIZE, GUYS!" the two shouted together, drawing several weird looks from the various people wandering through the hallway. On an ordinary day, they would have been lucky, and the hallway would have been mysteriously clear. However, this was not an ordinary day, nor were these the ordinary writers.  
  
This, of course, might not have been so bad, had Malcolm not happened to be one of those wandering past.  
  
"Let's samurize, guys?" he repeated, scratching his head as Sam was sucked into Sydney's laptop. "Oh, well. Time to check on my little virus."  
  
He made his way across the hallway to his own locker, and turned on his own laptop. And so, both teens stood in the hallway, at their respective lockers, anxiously staring at the screens of their respective laptops.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Aw...how cute," Yezo crooned, looking down from the little writer-world that she and Bezo inhabited.  
  
"Hey, what if they find out about each other?" Bezo asked, concerned.  
  
"What do you mean, find out about each other?" Yezo demanded.  
  
"Well, you know. How one works for the good guys and one works for the bad guys."  
  
"Love, remember what universe we're working in," Yezo giggled.  
  
"Right. No chance of that happening," Bezo sighed.  
  
  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the hallway...  
  
  
  
"Go, Servo! Find that mean ol' virus!" Sydney cheered.  
  
"Go, virus! Find that mean ol' Servo!" Malcolm cheered.  
  
Then, as one, they turned around to stare at each other incredulously.  
  
"Hi, Malcolm!" Sydney chirped, waving happily.  
  
"Hello, Sydney. Hey, do you wanna trade laptops?" he suggested eagerly. After all, he was getting rather tired of Kilokhan's whining. Let her deal with it for a while!  
  
"No!" she replied snippily. "My laptop!"  
  
"Get the laptop from the Syd-thing!" Kilokhan commanded from where he resided within the screen of Malcolm's computer.  
  
"No, Mysterious Voice Inside Malcolm's Locker! My laptop!" she reiterated, cuddling it close.  
  
"Whoa! It suddenly got really dark!" Servo announced. "And I think I see boobies!"  
  
Malcolm frowned, then shook his head.  
  
"Nah," he reflected to himself. "I couldn't have just heard what I thought I heard."  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the digital world...  
  
  
  
Servo marched along triumphantly, as the same march somehow played in the background. He drew in his breath as if to sing, when all of a sudden...  
  
SQUISH!  
  
Servo frowned.  
  
"What was that, home base?"  
  
"I have a name, Servo!" Sydney protested hotly. "And it is Sydney! Kindly use it!"  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, at Malcolm's locker...  
  
"What an odd coincidence," he mused, frowning as the girl's voice drifted toward him. "I know a Servo, too. I didn't think it was a very common name, but..."  
  
Then he frowned again as a remarkably similar shout drifted out from the speakers of his computer. For some unexplained reason, things operated on a five-second delay in the digital world.  
  
"I have a name, Servo!" Sydney protested hotly. "And it is Sydney! Kindly use it!"  
  
"Wow! I know a Sydney, too!" Malcolm proclaimed. "Oh, well. Back to the matter at hand. Go, virus! Destroy that Servo slob!"  
  
"Ow!" a tiny voice whimpered from the bottom of Servo's foot.  
  
"Ooh...this isn't good," Malcolm noted in what was perhaps his most intelligent insight that day.  
  
"Ow!" the voice whimpered again as Servo took another step. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"  
  
"Hey, try to keep the beat, would you, little guy?" Servo requested of the bottom of his foot.  
  
"Uh, Sam," a voice echoed through the digital world and drifted out from the speakers of Malcolm's laptop. "I think the virus is taken care of. You can come back now! Back to the hallway of the school! North Valley High School!"  
  
"Curses!" Malcolm hissed. "Foiled again, and STILL with no idea who Servo is!"  
  
"Wow, I hope no one ever finds out that you're Servo, Sam," Sydney was meanwhile saying to a newly reappeared Sam.  
  
Malcolm turned to glare at them both.  
  
"If you aren't going to provide me with any helpful insights, then be gone!"  
  
"But I didn't get to use Grid Power!" Sam whimpered.  
  
  
  
"Bob?" a voice softly called from the doorway of the Soda Shop (tm).  
  
Bob set down his fifty-seventh chocolate milkshake and turned to glare blearily at this intruder.  
  
"What?" he demanded, then blinked as his gaze lit on a pretty young woman with long, flowing red hair. "Julie?"  
  
"Yes, Bob. It's me."  
  
"Get outta here, Julie," Bob commanded intensely. "You can't be seen with a- a-a caterer's coffee-guy like me!"  
  
"Don't say that, Bob!" Julie sobbed, throwing her arms around him. "We can get through this together! We can be happy! We can bring the caterers coffee! Together!"  
  
"Oh, Julie!"  
  
"Oh, Bob!"  
  
"Oh, brother," Phil sighed.  
  
Yes, this was the start of a beautiful friendship. Or, you know, something else entirely.  
  
  
  
"So, what you're trying to say," Tanker began sceptically, shifting in his chair in the school cafeteria, "is that it was a virus that made me stupid?"  
  
"No," Sydney corrected, patting his shoulder. "The virus made you say 'football' a lot. Your parents made you stupid, with a little help from that tree you fell out of when you were four."  
  
"I thought we'd never discuss the tree again," Tanker glared at her.  
  
"Anyway," Sam began in his 'only two minutes left of the episode/time to wrap everything up' voice, "I think we've all learned an important lesson today."  
  
"Not me!" Tanker announced proudly.  
  
"Or me," Amp added.  
  
"Or me," Yoli agreed from her perch in the bushy-haired youth's lap.  
  
"Me, neither," Sydney agreed sadly.  
  
"And certainly not me," Malcolm added emphatically. "Although, I do have many more clues as to who Servo is. Damn this mystery!"  
  
"I learned how to work the door!" Jennifer announced proudly. "Ow!"  
  
"Uh...kay," Sam said hesitantly. "So, no one learned anything. But at least everything's back to normal."  
  
"Um...not quite," Sydney began to say, but was interrupted by Tanker.  
  
"That reminds me. Sydney, I'm sorry to do this - kinda - but I'm breaking up with you. See, over the course of the last few hours, I have truly found the love of my life. Mandi, Candi, Brandi, I love you guys!"  
  
"We're not guys!" the three chirped together, annoyed. "Duh!"  
  
"Even better! Football!" Tanker proclaimed jubilantly as he sauntered from the cafeteria surrounded by his newly acquired girlfriends.  
  
"Oh, dear. Well, I'll try to get over it. Malcolm? Wanna help me with the long, difficult process of healing?"  
  
"Does this process involve pants flying through the air?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"Yup!" she chirped.  
  
"O-kay!" he agreed enthusiastically, breaking all sense of character that hadn't already succumbed to brutalisation over the last five chapters as the two scurried from the cafeteria in search of a nice, secluded supply closet...or boiler room.  
  
"What the...?" Sam scratched his head. Then he rolled his eyes. "I'm confused. Whatever. Hey, Jennifer, wanna go for ice cream?"  
  
"Sure!" Jennifer chirped, walking into the door once again. "Ow!"  
  
"Wait a minute..." Mrs. Starkey began as all the happy couples (or quartets) sauntered from the cafeteria. "Weren't we doing a play here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
What they're doing now:  
  
  
  
Sam went on to find a guitar. With strings. He has now learned five chords, and is currently the lead singer of Greenday. However, after learning that fifth chord, he has become hopelessly overqualified for the position, so they are thinking of sacking him.  
  
Jennifer went on to walk into a wall. Several times. She is reported as having said, "Ow!"  
  
Yoli and Amp were married. They now lead a full and happy life together in the Crab Nebula, a quirky little bar and grill in New York City. As owners and part-time managers, they live above the establishment in a lovely little en suite.  
  
Tanker plays football.  
  
Mandi, Candi, and Brandi went on to marry Tanker, once he had converted to Mormonism. They are now his personal cheering squad, on and off the football field. Go, Tanker, go, indeed.  
  
Sydney and Malcolm went on to be married. Malcolm never did find out who Servo was, even after Kilokhan was destroyed in a freak accident, saying as he died, "It's Sam Collins, you idiot!" To this day, those last words of his former partner haunt Malcolm, remaining a mystery that may never be fully solved. Sydney is now a lead programmer for Microsoft. Clearly, Malcolm's evil has got to her. In more ways than one, mrowr. Despite one being haunted to this day by an unfathomable mystery and the other being an agent of the devil, they are very happy.  
  
Bob and Julie went on to be married, as well. Unfortunately, Bob developed diabetes as a result of all those chocolate milkshakes, but was able to cure it, and has since discovered the cure for every known type of cancer, as well as Ebola, and the common cold. He is now the President of the United States. Everybody loves Bob! 


End file.
